My parents were well-to-do people of the farmer class, in Suffolk, and I have been told of a laughable incident when I was only about six years old.
There was a family party, and at teatime my cousin Jenny, a fine girl of about seventeen, who was slightly disfigured by a very hirsute appearance about her upper lip, was seated opposite to me, and particularly attracted my attention, it being the first time I had ever seen her. I was so absorbed in contemplating her moustache that I could not take my eyes off her, so that she quite blushed.
At last I broke out. "What have you got girl's clothes on for? I don't believe you are a girl at all. My brother Dick has got a moustache just like yours."
"Hush, for shame, Johnny; be quiet, do," said my mother, giving me quite a severe pat, whilst the object of my remarks flushed crimson, as tears of shame started to her eyes.
"I won't. I know she's a boy. See if I don't find out whether she's cracked like a girl, or got a spout like a tea-kettle on her!" I cried out, but was not allowed to say more, as I was cuffed and driven in disgrace from the room, whilst poor Jenny also rose from the table to retire and have a good cry over her humiliation.
About twelve years afterwards, when Jenny was a married woman, happening to be left alone with her for a short time one day, I recalled the incident to her memory, in fact I believe she never forgot it, as she used always to regard me with a most peculiar kind of look.
How she blushed at first; but putting my arms round her waist, I asked her to kiss and forgive me, if it was such a long time ago.
"You know, Jack, I will. You were such a tit then," she replied, as she permitted me to take the kiss.
"But, Jenny, I love you so, and am as curious as ever. Can you forgive that?"